


The Cruel Immortality of Love

by richbrook



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richbrook/pseuds/richbrook
Summary: Arthur is none too pleased when he discovers people have been meddling in his personal affairs.
Relationships: Mary Gillis Linton/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in Shady Belle not long after Arthur and Mary meet in Saint Denis  
> written while I was still on chapter 4 of my first playthrough so please forgive any canon inconsistencies  
> HMU on Tumblr @ himboarthurmorgan for any requests

“Penny for your thoughts there, Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur started, jolted from his reverie. For how long he’d been staring transfixed at the water, he could not tell. Could have been seconds, could have been hours.

“Mary-Beth,” he slid over on the log he was sitting on, inviting her to join him. “Don’t mind me. I’m just in a world of my own, is all.”

“You sure are,” she sat and smoothed out a crease in her skirt. “Been awfully quiet these past few weeks. Even more so than usual.”

“I’m just keepin’ my head down,” he gazed at the reflection of the crescent moon rippling in the swampy water before them. “Just doin’ my best to earn us some money without kickin’ up any trouble like the last few towns.”

“Trouble is never too far behind it seems,” she handed him a cigarette and placed one to her lips.

“No...” he sighed, striking a match on his boot, he lit her cigarette, then his own and took a deep drag. “Seems to be catchin’ up with us quicker and quicker each time we move. Reckon we won’t be stayin’ here for long.”

“Can’t say I’m too sorry about that,” Mary-Beth glanced back at the dilapidated plantation house. “That place gives me the creeps.”

“Mmm,” he nodded, taking another deep drag.

They had just settled in at Clemens Point, their own little slice of Eden by the lakeshore. Now they were sweltering in the swamps, surrounded by gators and ravaged by mosquitos in this atrocious relic of the past. Some evenings Arthur was glad to have a roof over his head, but he would have sacrificed it in a heartbeat to catch a breath of fresh air again. The air down here was clammy, humid and thick with the putrid smog from Saint Denis. Arthur was not suited towards this climate. He was hard pressed to believe any man was.

“What is it, Arthur?” Mary-Beth pressed. “You’re a million miles away.”

“I just got some things on my mind,” he smiled softly. “Borin’ old man things.”

“Mary Linton things?” she arched an eyebrow.

Arthur’s smile dissipated into a frown.

“Now what would make you say a thing like that?”

“Nothing,” Mary-Beth shook her head dismissively. “I shouldn’t have said anything, just forget—”

“No, no,” Arthur flicked his cigarette into the water and turned to face her. “You brought it up and I want to know why.”

“Dammit, Arthur…” She took a long drag and shook her head. “Because this is how you get when she comes back into your life in some shape or form. All withdrawn and… morose.”

“Morose.” He chuckled softly and looked back at the water. “I’m the same old grumpy bastard I ever was. Losin’ Sean the way we did hasn’t helped matters none.”

The memory of the spray of blood assailed him. He shook his head to rid himself of the image of the bullet hole below the lad’s dead eyes that once twinkled with mirth.

“Don’t use Sean’s passing as an excuse,” Mary-Beth said firmly. “We’re all grieving for him, Arthur.”

“Well,” he sighed, moving to leave. “We all got our different ways of showin’ it.”

“I know for a fact you saw her again,” she said suddenly, lifting her chin in defiance. “That day in Saint Denis.” Arthur froze and regarded her with a cool stare.

“And how did you become partial to that information?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know,” she said defensively. “I’m right aren’t I?”

“You are.” He nodded slowly. “And what of it?”

“She’s no good for you, Arthur. All she ever does is bring you hurt and pain.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He made to rise again, but firm fingers caught his wrist.

“Arthur, _please_ ,” she pleaded. “Don’t you see how she uses you then tosses you aside and sends you into a spiral for months until the next time she can use you again?”

“Mary-Beth,” he warned, irked by the niggling truth to her words. “You need to mind your business”.

“It’s all of our business when she’s writing you begging to run away with her!”

Arthur paused, taken aback.

“She what?”

Mary-Beth’s eyes widened then she released his arm and buried her face in her hands.

“Jesus, Arthur.”

“You been goin’ through the letters in my room?” he snarled and Mary-Beth shook her head miserably in response.

“Then what the hell are you talkin’ about?” When she did not respond Arthur wrenched her hands away from her face. “Dammit, Mary-Beth. Tell me!”

“She wrote you again!” Mary-Beth cried, her eyes glistening with tears. “A few days after you met in Saint Denis a letter came here for you and I knew it was hers by the writing, so I took it—”

“Goddamn you,” Arthur growled, resisting the urge to shake her. “You had no right.”

“I took it to protect you,” she wept, tears streaming down her cheeks. “From all the hurt and sorrow she brings on you. She’s no good—”

“You had no right,” he said again through gritted teeth and rose from the log, pulling Mary-Beth up with him. “Where is it? Go get it now.”

“I don’t have it,” she protested, pulling against him feebly. “You’re hurting me, Arthur!”

He released her arm and wheeled on her. “Where is it, damn you!”

“Hey,” Charles approached them warily having heard the commotion. “Everything alright over here?”

“It’s okay, Charles,” Mary-Beth sniffed, wiping her cheek. “We’re fine.”

“We’re pretty damn far from fine,” Arthur said, ignoring Charles in favour of glaring at her. “You tell me where it is right now, or so help me God”.

“I don’t know where it is.” Mary-Beth hesitated for a moment then sighed. “I gave it to Dutch. I don’t know what he did with it.”

“You gave it to Dutch?” Arthur repeated, a tingle of fury danced across his scalp.

“He told me to,” she said, swallowing against a sob. “When he found out you were with her in Saint Denis, we thought it was in your best interest to keep her from hurting you again so he told me to keep an eye out for any correspondence from her and to bring it to him—”

“I’ll kill the bastard.” Arthur could barely hear over the pounding of his own heart. Ignoring her pleas, he stormed past Mary-Beth towards the old manor, his fists clenched and his head swimming with fury.

“Arthur,” Charles jogged up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Arthur, just take a moment alright? Talk to me.”

“Stay out of it, Charles,” Arthur snapped, shrugging him off. “This is between me and that bastard.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, friend.” Arthur ignored him as he strode into the house and up the stairs two at a time.

He burst into Dutch’s room where he was stretched out on a chaise longue. He bolted upright at the intrusion, his book tumbling to the floor.

“Arthur, what is it?” he said, startled. “Is it the Pinkertons?”

“Get up, you son of a bitch,” Arthur rasped, breathing heavily. “Get up so we can make this a fair fight.”

“A fight?” Dutch raised an eyebrow at him and laughed, a booming sound that reverberated through the walls. “I have no quarrel with you, my boy. Whatever has gotten into you?”

“Get up,” Arthur repeated, edging closer. “I’m giving you a fair warning here.”

“Arthur,” Dutch regarded him over the rim of his spectacles before removing them and setting them aside with a sigh. “I’m not going to fight you like some barbarian. Now use your words or come back later when you’re ready to discuss the matter with me like civilised men.”

“Fuck your civility,” Arthur spat and dragged Dutch up by the lapels of his vest. “I ought to put a bullet in your skull, you bastard”.

“Go ahead.” Dutch did not struggle in his grasp; he even had the audacity to look bored by proceedings. “Kill me then. Put me out of my misery at last. See what that will achieve for you and the rest of those poor souls outside.”

Arthur clenched his fingers in the fabric of Dutch’s lapels, resisting the urge to curl them around his throat. He inhaled a ragged breath and spoke carefully through gritted teeth.

“Where is the letter, Dutch.”

“Ah.” Realisation dawned on the older man’s face. He nodded slowly. “Of course. Only _she_ would evoke this kind of behaviour.”

“Answer me!” Arthur shoved him against the wardrobe forcefully, causing the walls to rattle.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” A flash of anger passed over Dutch’s expression. Seeing that Arthur was well beyond that, he grabbed his wrists and spoke calmly.

“Alright,” he said. “Let me go and I’ll get your letter.”

Arthur did so and stood back as Dutch straightened himself and crossed the room to grab a lockbox from underneath the bedside cabinet.

“Everything I do,” Dutch said, unlocking the box. “Everything I’ve ever done for you has been in your best interests. This is the thanks I get.”

“Don’t give me that horseshit,” Arthur scoffed.

“It’s true, sadly.” He rifled through a stack of papers, not looking at Arthur. “I love you like you were my own son and with that comes the sad reality that I know what’s best for you even if you are blind to reason.”

“You’re not slick talking your way out of this one, old man.”

“Indeed.” Dutch smiled ruefully as he examined a sheet of paper. “I should have destroyed this the moment it came into my possession. I promise you nothing will be achieved by reading it.”

“Just give it here.”

Dutch sighed heavily and handed him the paper.

“Suit yourself.”

Arthur recognised instantly the elegant script and swallowed tightly.

_Arthur,_

_I should never have gotten on that trolley, not at least without kissing you goodbye. I have not stopped weeping since. When I am with you, I feel safe and want for nothing else in this cruel world._

_I cannot recall a time when I laughed so much as I did with you this afternoon at the theatre. I confess, at times I found it difficult to devote all of my attention to the show when all I could think about was you beside me._

_My life has been a succession of one regret after another—meeting you has not been one of them, Arthur Morgan. Not marrying you is certainly the most prevalent._

_I have decided to stay in Saint Denis for one more week. If you really did mean what you said about leaving with me once you have your affairs in order, then come meet me at the Hotel Grand again. I know there have been obstacles to our love for each other, but I believe we are drawn to each other for good reason, and if God wills it, then so it shall be._

_If I should not hear from you, please know that I will always regret the pain I have caused you and you will always have a special place in my heart._

_Yours always,_

_Mary_

Arthur had to read the words twice to take them all in. When he saw the letter was dated almost six weeks ago, the room began to reel violently.

“Mary..” he breathed softly, his fingers shaking, his stomach a tight knot.

“Come now, my boy.” Dutch offered him a glass of bourbon he had poured. “Leave the past in the past where it belongs. It’s for the best.”

“You had no right to keep this from me!” Arthur roared, batting the glass away. It smashed into smithereens on the floor. “You had no right to interfere with my life like this!”

Dutch’s mouth tightened with disapproval, his patience waning.

“You need to control yourself, Arthur. If you want to talk about this, I’ll talk. I won’t tolerate this adolescent behaviour from you.”

“I’m not a teenager no more,” Arthur growled, but he could feel his anger dissipating into defeat. A wave of exhaustion passed over him and his heart felt like it was sinking into his stomach.

“Then act accordingly.” Dutch said firmly in that tone of his that brokered no argument. He stepped over the broken glass and poured himself a glass of bourbon from the drinks cart. “Something to settle your nerves?” he turned and raised an expectant eyebrow.

Arthur nodded, acquiescing reluctantly. Dutch poured him a generous glass and handed it to him with a sigh.

“Now. I take it was Miss Mary-Beth who informed you of this letter?”

“She let it slip, yeah.” Arthur drank the bourbon in one mouthful, relishing the burn that raced down his throat. “I had to press her about it, but she told me you put her up to confiscating it.”

“Silly girl,” Dutch muttered, shaking his head. “I won’t deny it, Arthur. I did exactly that, but for a very good reason. I’ve seen how this Mary Linton has hurt you time and time again.”

“It wasn’t your decision to make,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t yours to take away from me.”

“I trust you with my life, Arthur.” Dutch said. “But when it comes to that woman all of your good judgement goes out the window.”

“No..” Arthur shook his head in denial, but Dutch continued.

“She comes to you with her empty, false promises of love and family and a better life only to rescind it all when he has used you and left you a dried up husk of the man you were before.”

“That’s not true.” Arthur said, with little conviction.

“Oh yes, it is.” Dutch said disparagingly. “And you fall for it every damn time and then I’m left to pick up the pieces afterwards.”

“You don’t understand,” Arthur said dazedly, staring into space. “It was different this time.”

“Oh, really? So she didn’t have you running some errands for her before or after your theatre date, hm? You didn’t have to strongarm some fellows to protect her honour? She didn’t have you rescuing her brother or her deadbeat father that loathes you so much?”

Arthur wanted to raise his chin defiantly and tell Dutch no, to spit in his face and prove him wrong. He wanted to tell him that Mary had requested to see him for the pleasure of his company alone, to be with him, to be held by him.

As it was, all he could do was clench his jaw and look to the ground. The silence was answer enough for Dutch.

“Foolish boy…” he said, not unkindly and sighed. “I don’t blame you for falling victim to her feminine wiles. What the fairer sex lack in physical strength, they make up for in cunning and subterfuge.”

“It’s not like that,” Arthur grimaced. “ _She’s_ not like that.”

“Oh, really?” Dutch scoffed. “Tell me why she dropped you like a hot potato for Linton only to come running to you again after he kicked the bucket? Mighty convenient timing if you ask me.”

“Stop it.”

“Don’t you see, Arthur? You’re nothing but the muscle to her—the _help_.” Dutch sighed and regarded him with sympathy. “To her, you’re common as muck. She was never going to take you as her husband”.

“You’re wrong.” Arthur shook his head resolutely, as if to block out the words he did not wish to accept. “It was different this time. We both made mistakes in the past, but we were goin’ to make things right.”

He was convincing himself as much as he was Dutch. It wasn’t as if Dutch’s words were news to Arthur anyway—they formed most of his internal dialogue whenever he allowed himself to think about Mary.

He knew he wasn’t good enough for her—that he wasn’t the kind of man she deserved. He wanted to hate her for marrying Barry Linton, but he never could bring himself to feel any ill will towards her. Whatever doubts he may have harboured before, the time they spent together in Saint Denis had proved to Arthur that she loved him as much in return. Now she was gone again. Gone God knows where and under the assumption that he did not love her enough to even begin to change.

“I knew you were lovestruck, Arthur,” Dutch was saying pacing across the room, “but I didn’t take you for a fool.”

“You ruined my life,” Arthur said with calm realisation. “She was all I had..”

“Ruined your—” Dutch stopped dead in his tracks, looking for all the world as if Arthur had just plunged a blade into his belly. “I _gave_ you a life, you ungrateful bastard! Took you in as if you were my own son!”

“And you’ve lauded it over my head since,” Arthur jabbed a finger towards him. “Never letting me forget the impossible debt I could never repay you.“

“The only thing you owe me, Arthur Morgan, is your loyalty,” Dutch squared up to him, “and if I can’t have that, then I will at least have your _obedience_.”

“I’ve never been anything but loyal to you,” Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “Out of everyone here, I’ve given you everything—my whole life. How could you doubt me?”

“I take no pleasure in such thoughts, Arthur. But I’ve seen a change in you of late. I can’t get past it.”

“Right,” Arthur sneered. “You mean you’ve had that snake Michah spittin’ venom in your ear again.”

“You think I’m stupid enough to be blind to his manipulations?” Dutch said, eyebrows raised. “I’ve seen a change in you since before he started riding with us, Arthur. It’s become more evident of late.”

“Evident how?”

“The rare times you are at camp you barely speak to anyone- you sulk and you brood instead,” Dutch said. “Then you disappear from the camp for days at a time to Lord knows where. I had to send Charles out looking for you a fortnight ago—"

“You know damn well I’m doing everything I can to bring in some money and food,” Arthur interjected, outraged. “Take a look at that ledger there and you’ll see that you’d all starve without me.”

“That’s all well and good, Arthur, but how do I know what else you’re getting up to in all that time? The only reason I found out about your dalliance with Mrs. Linton is because someone spotted you together in town.”

“You’ve had someone following me, Dutch?”

“No,” he replied. “But when you disappear on us for days at a time, I start to think maybe I should.”

“You want me to send you a postcard every night I’m away from camp?” Arthur laughed mirthlessly.

“Don’t test me, boy.” Dutch warned. “You’ve been slipping. I should have taken you to task for what happened in Rhodes.”

“What?” Arthur felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “You can’t possibly blame me for what happened there?”

“Can I not?” Dutch rounded on him. “You’re my right-hand man because I trust your judgement. You’re supposed to have your wits about you.”

“It was Bill’s lead—”

“And you do everything a fool like Bill tells you?” Dutch yelled and Arthur felt like a teenager again. Stupid, foolish and belittled. “I hardly know Micah, so I hold you to a higher standard than the rest of them. I expected better from you. _Sean_ deserved better.”

“I couldn’t have done anything,” Arthur said, the words sounding feeble even to his own ears. “They were gonna get us somehow.”

“You could have turned back the second you knew something wasn’t right.” Dutch’s cold gaze pierced through him. “Sean would’ve followed you. That boy looked up to you.”

“Stop it, Dutch—”

“All he wanted was to impress you, to be around you and your lack of judgement—your _carelessness_ — got him killed.” Dutch paused a moment, sighed heavily through his nose. “It pains me to say it, but that boy’s blood is on your hands, Arthur.”

Arthur’s protest caught in his throat. He was going to say that Sean knew what he was getting himself in for, this was the risk that came with the job, that the Grays would have killed some of them one way or another, but his words turned to ash on his tongue.

He knew that Dutch was right. He should have gone with his instinct and never have let them venture into Rhodes that day. Sean and Bill would have followed him back to camp at least, and to hell with whatever Micah did.

His limbs heavy as lead, Arthur sank into a battered Chesterfield in the corner. He felt dizzy with fatigue and his stomach roiled unpleasantly.

“I’ll… do better, Dutch,” he said, staring at the ground. “I give you my word.”

“That’s my boy,” Dutch pressed another glass of Bourbon into his hand and clapped his shoulder. “I know it’s been tough with all the movin’ round and troubles we’ve had, but better times are ahead, Arthur.”

“Mm.” his words rang hollow in Arthur’s ears, but he no longer had the energy to oppose him.

“I hate to be so hard on you, but I needed you to see reason, son.” Dutch squeezed his shoulder tightly. “You’ve got your own family right here. Whatever contempt or hatred you might harbour for me, what about Hosea? How his heart would break if you were to desert us”.

Arthur looked up at Dutch, appalled.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, taken aback. “I- I might have had my doubts about the way some things are handled but… I’ve always— _will_ always—be loyal to you. I swear it”.

“I hope so, I really do.” Dutch smiled wanly. “You mustn’t forget about all the people here who love you and depend on you. Those girls down there would be earning pittance on their backs if it weren’t for everything you do for us here”.

Arthur did not want to entertain the thought of Miss Tilly, Karen, or any of the ladies being subjected to that. He downed his Bourbon in one go and winced.

“And what about little Jack?” Dutch continued. “That boy looks up to you more than his own father—imagine the pain you’d cause him if you left us”.

“Alright.” Arthur set the glass aside, pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the dull throbbing behind his eyes. “I understand.”

“Good lad,” Dutch said, lighting a fat cigar. He contemplated the yellow smoke curling in the moonlight before turning to Arthur with a smirk. “What you need is the company of a fine woman for a night. When I find myself succumbing to melancholy the expert touch of a woman always sets me right”.

“I don’t know, Dutch,” Arthur shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “That’s not my way—”

“Come now, you’re a red-blooded male like the rest of us!” Dutch protested. “There’s a high-class brothel on the North side of Saint Denis—women of every size and colour you could ever imagine. I’ll talk to the Madame there and let you have your pick—my treat of course.”

“Thanks, but no.” Arthur grimaced. Dress it up and charge as much as you want, but a whorehouse was a whorehouse, no matter how decadent.

He had whores before, but the experience was always unpleasant. He could never shake the thought that the women were merely indulging him, even if they were enthusiastic participants. He felt as though he were taking advantage of them somehow. He wanted a partner to share his bed solely because she wanted him, and he wanted her in return. Someone to cherish and to hold, to love.

Someone like Mary.

“I’m not the sort,” he said, dismissively.

“Alright then,” Dutch conceded, still regarding him with a slight smirk. “Then what about our Miss Mary-Beth?”

“What about her?” Arthur asked, his brow furrowed.

“Don’t act coy,” Dutch laughed. “It’s obvious to everyone here that she has her eye on you”.

“She does not”.

“Oh, she has it bad for you, my friend,” he gestured at him with his cigar. “And you’d be a fool not to indulge her. She’s a winsome lass with a bright mind”.

“She’s… a nice girl.” Arthur said carefully. He liked Mary-Beth, she was sweet, intelligent and pleasant to look at, but he had never felt those urges towards her—not the kind Dutch was alluding to.

“Horseshit,” Dutch scoffed. “You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed those magnificent breasts of hers? I’ll tell you; I would have bedded her a long time ago if I didn’t have my own little Irish hawk watching my every move”.

“Christ Almighty…” Arthur groaned, truly uneasy now.

“I mean, if you prefer them older,” Dutch continued, oblivious, “I can tell you from experience Miss Grimshaw is a hellcat—”

“Enough,” Arthur cut him off rapidly. “I’ll go to the brothel in town, alright? You happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Dutch grinned and retrieved a small matchbook from the lockbox and tossed it to him. “Go and get your wick dipped—you’ll be a new man afterwards.”

“Club Athena…” Arthur read the matchbook with a raised eyebrow, seeing that its address was in the wealthiest part of town.

“You go there any time and ask for Madame Deveaux, she’ll set you up with whatever girl you can dream of. Just tell her ol’ Dutch sent you and she’ll look after you.”

“I’ll bet..” said Arthur dryly. He had no intention of setting foot inside the establishment, but if it got Dutch off his case for the time being, then he’d play along.

“You’re my best man, Arthur. I need you on your A-game.” Dutch said earnestly. “Whatever it takes.”

“I know, I know..” he said wearily, tucking away the matchbook.

Dutch hooked his finger under Arthur’s chin and tilted his jaw up to meet his gaze.

“Whatever it takes,” he repeated slowly, the humour dissipated from his eyes once more. “There’s too much at stake now for any other distractions… Do we understand each other?”

Arthur paused, pinned to the spot by that cold gaze. He swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I understand.”

“Good man,” Dutch said, placated. He took another puff of his cigar and stowed away the lockbox. “What’s say we join the others outside for bit, hm? I hear Hosea got his hands on a Backgammon board and Lenny somehow acquired a whole case of cognac this evening.”

“You go,” Arthur smiled. “I’ll join you in a minute”.

Dutch nodded and left the room. Arthur listened to the thud of his boots descending the stairs and dragged his palm over his face.

He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever felt so exhausted, so defeated… so miserable. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and escape the waking world. As it was, he knew appearances needed to be upheld, so he collected himself and pushed his weary body out of the chair.

Dutch had left Mary’s letter on the bed. Deliberately, without a doubt. He picked it up and traced his fingers over her words once more.

Her elegant cursive was so much more pleasing than his untidy scrawl. She would tease him about it sometimes and he would pretend to take offence. He imagined her sitting by the candlelight composing this letter. Her hair loose around her pale neck, a blot of ink smudged on her delicate wrist.

He crossed the room and held the letter over a taper flickering on the mantel and watched the paper curl and blacken before throwing it into the fire grate where it burned to a pile of smouldering ash.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary had been penning a letter to her late husband’s sister when there was a soft knock upon the door. She had only met Elizabeth Linton twice before; once at her wedding to Barry and again at his funeral. She was a kind lady of a timid disposition and Mary wished to remain in contact with her for a time at least.

She glanced at the clock on the wall of her hotel room and was surprised to see it was almost half past noon. Setting her pen aside, she righted her skirts and crossed the room to open the door where the hotel clerk greeted her with cordial smile.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Linton. I trust your accommodations are proving most comfortable?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you. They are most satisfactory.”

“Indeed,” the man inclined his head “I have come to inform you that you have a visitor.”

“Oh?” Mary said, her heart jumping with glee, despite herself.

“Yes, Madame. A… gentleman has called to request the pleasure of your company.”

The man’s hesitation was not lost upon Mary. Arthur must have neglected to shine his mucky boots or failed to scrub the dirt from under his fingernails. The Hotel Grand likely did not enjoy the custom of men in denims and riding chaps with spurs. She stifled a giggle at the image of Arthur swaggering into the hotel to the clerk’s thinly veiled dismay.

“A gentleman you say?” she feigned surprise.

“Yes. The man refused to give me his name,” he said tartly with a sniff. “He told me that you were expecting him.”

“Oh, yes. I have been.” Mary had not been expecting Arthur so much as she had been hoping— _praying_ —for him to visit. She could scarcely conceal her joy now that he was here.

“I invited him to wait for you in the drawing room on the first floor.” The clerk smiled amiably. “I think you’ll find it most peaceful at this hour.”

 _Most devoid of other guests who may be subjected to Arthur’s fashion choices_ , Mary thought, biting her lip to prevent a grin breaking across her face.

“Thank you, Sir. You are most kind,” she said, breathless with excitement. “I’ll join him in a moment.”

“Very well, Madame.” He excused himself with a slight bow. “If you need anything please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Much obliged,” Mary said as she closed the door and then leaned against it to catch her breath.

He was here. He had really come to see her.

She had not had a sound night’s sleep since writing to him almost a week ago. How she had fussed and fretted, too anxious to entertain the thought that he might show up. Now that he was here, her anxieties had dissipated, replaced with a sense of pure elation she had not experienced in years.

She ran to the mirror and coiled her hair into a low plait, just as Arthur liked it. She pinched her cheeks and smoothed out a fold in her dress. Her father would chastise her for her vanity, but Mary thought she looked rather presentable. After a final appraisal in the mirror, she took in a deep breath and composed herself.

Whatever the outcome, Mary knew she would not leave Saint Denis without telling Arthur her true feelings. How much she loved him and how she wished to be a part of his life. Even if he rejected her, she would take comfort in the fact she was honest with him and with herself at last. She was done with living a life of regrets.

Emboldened by this thought, she swept out of her room, descended the stairs to the first floor and made her way to the drawing room on the east side of the building. She hesitated for just a moment before knocking and entering with a smile.

The man sat on a settee before the fire with his back to her. Her smile dissipated when she noticed his dark hair underneath a wide brim hat; hair much too black to be Arthur’s.

“Oh. My apologies,” she stopped in the doorway. “I’m supposed to meet someone here.”

“Indeed you are, Mrs. Linton.” The man stood to face her and Mary’s heart sank. “Our paths cross at last.”

“Dutch Van der Linde.” Mary said, her brow creasing. “I… don’t understand.”

“Ah, no need for introductions I see,” Dutch seemed pleased. “My reputation must precede me.”

Mary had seen sketches of the man’s likeness before in the papers and on a Bounty poster once. She recognised him, however, from a photograph Arthur had shown her once. A portrait of himself with Dutch and the man called Hosea.

It was a photograph of much younger men, but Dutch was instantly recognisable as the man with his hand on young Arthur’s shoulder. He had the same broad frame and prominent features more distinguished with age. Most recognisable were his hooded eyes and the cold gaze that the sketches of him could not quite capture.

“Why are you here, Mr. Van der Linde?” Mary said, her courtesies forgotten as dread pooled in her stomach.

“Why don’t you come over and have a seat?” he gestured to the settee. “Have a drink with me.”

“Is he hurt?” she remained frozen in the doorway. “Did something happen to him?”

“No, no. Nothing of the sort.” Dutch waved a hand dismissively. “He’s fine, I assure you. That boy will outlive us all.”

Mary could have sobbed with relief. She closed her eyes and blew out a deep breath, sending her silent thanks to the Heavens.

“I do apologise. I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Dutch said and once again invited her to sit. He moved to the drinks cart where he poured whiskey from a decanter into two glasses. “I just came to see you for a little chat, is all.”

Mary closed the door behind her with shaking fingers and crossed the room to sit in a chair by the fire.

“What could we possibly have to chat about, Mr. Van der Linde?”

“Please, call me Dutch,” he said, setting her drink on the coffee table before seating himself upon the settee across from her. “And we have much to discuss regarding our mutual acquaintance, of course.”

“Where is he?” she asked. “I want to speak with him.”

“He’s predisposed.” Dutch regarded her with a cool gaze. “You see, Mrs. Linton, when Arthur isn’t running errands for you, he’s actually a rather busy man.”

“Doing your dirty work.” Mary knew she was speaking out of turn, but his comment had rankled.

“Doing what his duty requires of him.” Dutch said brusquely and watched her for a moment. Mary resisted the urge to shrink beneath his unwavering gaze. She lifted her chin and a slow smile tugged at his mouth. “I’ve always wondered what you must be like. The girl who broke his heart.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Dutch arched an eyebrow and swirled his drink in the glass. “You see, Mary.. I’ve been through thick and thin with Arthur. That includes every time you’ve summoned him and cast him aside… when you rebuffed him time and time again. I was there when you became Mrs. Linton.”

“Stop it.” Mary breathed, her heart pounding.

“My God, how that crushed him.”

“Enough.” She interjected, hoping her voice would not betray the trepidation she was battling within. “I won’t tolerate you speaking to me like this. Either tell me why you are here or please leave, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“You’re a spirited one.” Dutch chuckled and drew a cigar from his breast pocket. “A girl with spirit is fun for a time. Full of heat, passion and rapture.” He pulled a cutter from his waistcoat and snipped off the cap deftly. “But you see after a short time, Mary, the novelty wears thin and the whole thing becomes oh so _tiresome_.”

“I’m leaving.” Mary said, rising from her seat. She had enough of his jibes and derisive remarks.

“I’m here because he sent me.” Dutch said, sitting back in the settee. “After your letter to him the other day.”

That gave her pause.

“You read my letter?” she said, sitting down again.

“Heavens, no.” Dutch said. “He wouldn’t tell me a word of what was in it. But whatever it was… it upset him a great deal.”

Mary was at a loss for words. She stared at the glass of whiskey untouched before her. She had not thought her letter would cause distress. For once, she was asking no favours from Arthur, only the pleasure of his company.

“I… I didn’t—”

“I’ve never seen the boy so incensed.” Dutch continued. “He said he’s had enough-- that his heart can’t take it anymore. Not this time.”

“Why isn’t he telling me this?” Mary said, confused. “Even by letter. Why did he send you?”

“Because he didn’t trust himself to be around you.” Dutch shrugged, lighting his cigar. “He says he’s not in his right mind around you… that he’s powerless to refuse you.”

Mary did not understand. They had parted on good terms the other day in Saint Denis. Wistful, perhaps- but bolstered by the faint glimmer of hope that they could possibly start a new life together. What had inspired his change of heart?

“What did you say to him?” Mary turned to face Dutch. “How did you make him change his mind?”

Dutch laughed, a booming sound that made the hairs on the back of Mary’s neck prickle.

“Believe it or not, Mrs. Linton, Arthur is a big boy capable of independent thought. He had already made up his mind when he came to me to tell me about the letter and ask that I come see you instead.”

Arthur had been so sincere in his promise to her. He only had to take care of a few people, he said. Once they were free, he would be too. Free from that life, free from those ways.

Free from Dutch Van der Linde.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, with growing resolution.

“I’m a busy man—a wanted man.” He heaved an exasperated sigh, cigar smoke curling about his face. “I assure you, I would not waste my time and run the risk of exposure if anyone but Arthur had asked me to come here today.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“And what, pray tell, would I stand to gain from lying to you?”

“Control. Over him. You chase me away and keep him under your boot, right where you want him.”

Dutch smiled at her; an unsettling expression that did not reach his eyes.

“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you? Make it all the more palatable for you.” he said softly. “Do you think yourself so irresistible, so _beguiling_ that a man like Arthur could not finally come to his senses and see the forest from the trees?”

“No,” Mary said firmly. “But I do believe that you are under the impression you can tell him what he thinks he wants.”

He glared at her silently for a moment and Mary held his gaze. He shook his head and stubbed the cigar out on an ashtray

“Alright then…” he said. “Let’s say I am lying to you. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course.” Mary repeated curtly.

“Do you honestly think you could live a life together?”

“That’s for Arthur to decide”

“I’m not asking about Arthur.” Dutch said, eyebrows raised. “I’m asking do _you_ think you could live a life with him?”

“Of course,” Mary frowned. “I love him.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you love many things about him,” Dutch conceded, nodding. “He’s a fine-looking man, our Arthur. The ladies go wild for him… but I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

Mary rolled her eyes in response. It would take more than cheap tactics to dissuade her.

“And he has a kindness to him at times,” Dutch considered thoughtfully. “Such a rare quality amongst people in our line of work. I’m sure you’re familiar with that side of him.”

“Very much so,” she said resolutely.

“If I were you, Mrs. Linton, I would be more concerned about the side of Arthur you aren’t so familiar with- his true side.”

“Which is?”

“Arthur is a kind man, I’ll grant you,” Dutch said. “But he is by no means a good man. I’ve seen him do some terrible things over the years. Things you couldn’t begin to imagine, Mrs. Linton… Is that the kind of man you want as a husband?”

Mary paused, taken aback. “He’s not like that,” she said after a moment, though her words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

“The number of people he’s killed…” Dutch looked almost rueful. “It must be in the hundreds, if not over a thousand by now.”

“That’s not possible.” Mary said shaking her head.

“Of course it is, he’s an _outlaw_ ,” Dutch said adamantly. “And they’re just the people he was merciful enough to shoot. I’ve seen him beat men do death with his bare hands, break necks like twigs… even drowned a man in a cattle trough just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Stop it,” Mary said, her stomach lurching. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“And then I think about how he slaughtered that poor girl in Blackwater…” Dutch said, grim-faced. “What madness took a hold of him that caused him to kill an innocent girl like that, I’ll never know.”

“Please stop,” Mary pleaded, pushing herself out of the chair. She turned her back on him and gazed into the fire lest he would see her eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve heard enough.”

Mary knew Arthur was no saint. A “thuggish brigand” was one of the more pleasant terms her father would call him. But a ruthless killer? She tried to imagine those same calloused hands which caressed her so gently taking the life of another.

To her dismay, she realised she had known all along the kind of man Arthur was. It was her own wilful ignorance that had prevented her from confronting the fact that he was a killer. His hands would be permanently stained with the blood of the lives he had taken—the blood of bad men, she did not doubt, but they were no less equal in the eyes of the Lord.

“He will never be the husband you want him to be.” Dutch said sympathetically. “Do you really think he would leave the only life he’s ever known to settle down somewhere and what—work as a farm hand? Or break his back in a sawmill fifteen hours a day before coming home to you and the children?”

She had always dreamed of that sort of life with Arthur. But that was all it ever was… a dream. An unattainable fantasy she knew deep down would never come to fruition. Loath as she was to admit it; Dutch was right. Arthur would never be that man.

Mary wiped away an errant tear and pursed her lips as she felt his presence beside her. She continued to stare at the flames as Dutch leaned on the mantelpiece and regarded her with a tilted head.

“He kept a photograph of you, you know. Up until quite recently.”

Mary did not answer. She knew the one. It was a gift for him, taken on an Easter Sunday another lifetime ago. At the time, she thought the next portrait she would have taken would be her in her wedding gown with him by her side.

“I looked at it sometimes, the photograph and I must say… it scarcely does you justice.” Dutch stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. “I can see why he was so besotted with you. You are truly breath-taking.”

She recoiled from his touch like a hot brand had been pressed against her face and moved to strike him, but he caught her wrist with ease.

“Now, now,” he admonished with a smirk. “That isn’t very ladylike.”

“Let go of me you loathsome bastard,” she hissed, attempting to wrench herself free from his vice-like grip. “I’ll tell Arthur everything!”

The smirk vanished and Dutch’s eyes flashed with anger. “I have tried to reason with you, Mrs. Linton,” he growled, pulling her closer. “For Arthur’s sake, I have demonstrated with you a patience I do not normally grant others, but it has worn _severely_ thin. You won’t tell Arthur because he doesn’t want to hear from you—he wants nothing to do with you anymore.”

“Let go or I’ll scream,” Mary said defiantly, the smell of cigar smoke and gun oil making her dizzy.

Dutch scowled and relinquished his grip. She retreated backwards and he moved to block her path to the door.

“You’re making this immeasurably more difficult than it needs to be, woman,” he said irritably. “I have extended to you a great courtesy by showing up to speak with you today.”

“Oh, a fine courtesy indeed,” Mary scoffed, cradling her wrist.

“I could have come here and made sure my face was the last you ever saw. I could simply make you disappear and Arthur would be none the wiser.”

“You need not resort to threats against my life,” she said, determined not to be cowed by him, despite the fear clutching at her heart. “You have made yourself abundantly clear.”

“I truly hope so,” he said gravely. “It would be most unwise to underestimate what I’m capable of, especially when you threaten to take what’s mine.”

It occurred to Mary distantly that he was right. Arthur would claim to be his own man but, perverse as it was, he would always belong to Dutch. He had given too much of himself for too long to this man… to this way of life. There was no coming back from it and Mary was a fool for even entertaining the notion that they could pretend otherwise.

“Don’t trouble yourself. He won’t be hearing from me again.” Mary said and her words were true.

It irked her that Dutch would attribute her compliance to his thuggish display of masculine bravado. She had arrived at this decision herself, albeit accelerated by his boorish intervention. She would allow the belligerent lout his petty triumph if it removed him from her sight posthaste.

“Now, will you please leave.”

Dutch smiled, almost fondly. “You’re a clever girl, Mary. It’s a real shame you never came running with us. You and I could have had such fun together.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Van der Linde.” She said coldly. “I hope you get everything you deserve in this life and the next.”

He laughed again. That grating obnoxious sound that set her teeth on edge.

“No doubt I will, my dear. No doubt I will.” He winked at her and took his leave, his spurs rattling as he sauntered out of the room.

Mary waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps, then she counted to one hundred and walked back up the stairs in a daze. It was only when she had closed the door to her room behind her that she realised she was trembling all over.

At the washbasin she splashed cool water on her face. In the speckled mirror her face looked pale and drawn. She decided then that she would leave Saint Denis and return to her father and Jamie that night where she would resume the role of a good daughter, a good sister, the good widow. There, she would resolve to never think of Dutch Van der Linde again and she would never more allow herself to indulge in the deluded fantasy of a pretty dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we talk about how FINE Hosea is in this photograph??? https://i.redd.it/wrc4awzfnqv41.jpg


End file.
